


Snatch My Heart

by pantswarrior



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Backstage, Bad Poetry, Comedy, Concerts, Crack, M/M, Obsessive Behaviour, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley Stickler's job at the Sunshine Coliseum gives him the opportunity - and, accidentally, the incentive - to act upon his deepest, darkest urge... to steal the Gavinners' panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snatch My Heart

As was the standard routine, first he knocked on the door. "Housekeeping! Though," he added thoughtfully, "'housekeeping' is hardly an appropriate term, seeing as the coliseum is nothing like a 'house', as no one lives here - excepting perhaps the vermin in the walls, and I do sincerely hope I see no more of those tonight. Meanwhile, 'keeping' implies a sense of constancy, a sense of the untouched, the unchanged, and if 'housekeeping' is to enter and clean a room, then it is hardly 'keeping' the room the same way - unless, of course, the individuals temporarily residing in the room have 'kept' it clean already, in which case there is no need whatsoever for the service inappropriately named 'housekeeping..."

There was no response by the time Wesley reached the end of his thoughts (well, of course not the end - his thoughts were endless, naturally - but an appropriate stopping point) on the nature of his temp job, so he assumed there must be no one inside. A logical deduction, seeing as only moments ago, he had been at the edge of the mob in the mosh pit, watching the band rocking the stadium. It would be physically and temporally impossible for any of them to, at the same time, be in their dressing room. And thus, he entered.

In the most simple of terms, Wesley Stickler found his job at Sunshine Coliseum to be... adequate. Certainly it paid him enough money that he could afford to have a pizza delivered now and then, as opposed to his old habits of grazing from the free samples at the supermarket. And though most of the shows were not to his (exquisitely sophisticated) taste, he did get to watch them for free. Well, most of them. When he wasn't busy cleaning up spilled beer (or worse), or peddling cylindrical tubes of a questionably meat-like substance, cleaning the ductwork, or occasionally escorting a particularly rowdy audience member outside. (This had happened exactly once, before his supervisor had decided to leave that particular task to someone else - could Wesley help it if he had a weak jaw? And nose, and eye, and ribcage, and so on. He was only trying to keep himself from being _murdered_ by that terrifying nine-year-old.)

As of tonight, Wesley's job had become something more than satisfactory.

The Gavinners - he'd discovered them in middle school, and had followed their career ever since. Their rhythms entranced, their lyrics inspired... and their members' good looks bewitched. He was particularly fond of the golden siren who was their leader, as well as the exemplary prosecutor he had once had the chance to address from the witness stand.

And now, though he didn't have the chance to see _them_ up close and personal... he was given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to rifle through their personal possessions.

He had plenty of time - he could tell from the music blaring from the speaker above the door as he entered and closed the door behind him. A song from their third album, rather a modern day classic, Wesley considered as he had a look around. 'Eyes Bluer Than My Uniform' was a song he had listened to over and over during the year of his 9th grade, for it had reminded him of the first girl with whom he had ever dared to share a graphing calculator. Ah, the days of his youth - like the scent of fresh textbooks...

But in the here and now, he was taking in the atmosphere of the Gavinners' dressing room. This would be a job for more than housekeeping, he observed, for they'd redecorated the room quite thoroughly, changing the light on the ceiling and even dangling chains all about. Wesley was in awe. This - _this_ \- was the handiwork of his beloved muses! He couldn't even bring himself to be irritated by the lipstick on the mirror, for the Gavinners' emblem was drawn with such purpose, with such flair! He nearly wept at the thought that he himself might have to remove such a masterwork - and with something so inappropriate as generic glass cleaner, at that.

But that was a tragedy for later, he reminded himself, and began to examine the room. Spare guitars stood by, perhaps awaiting the next acts of the concert? He plucked a string tentatively, and his soul _soared_ to hear that low, sultry E. Wesley imagined himself onstage, with his idols, hearing the roar of the crowd...

"Thank you! Thank you all! Guess our fans haven't forgotten our older material!"

Klavier Gavin's voice, through the speaker. The song had ended, and Wesley heard the audience scream enthusiastically. It only grew with Gavin's next question. "Now that we've got that cleared up... how would you like to hear a brand new song?"

The screams were so loud that the speakers crackled. "Ja, baby! Get ready to rock with my latest composition - Snatch My Heart!" The audience went wild again as the second guitarist began laying down a threatening riff - then there was the sharp crack of the drums as the rest of the band joined in.

Wesley's head bobbed to the rhythm of the intro as he continued to examine the room. ...If he were a simpler man, he thought to himself, the appropriate reaction to finding a large suitcase half-open behind the couch would have been: 'JACKPOT.' But just a single word wouldn't have done justice to the excitement that filled Wesley's heart at the sight of so precious a trove of treasure as the band's _luggage_. All the words he knew could not do this feeling justice...

"Now, let me tell you a story," Gavin was calling to the crowd over the music, ending his guitar solo as the drums and the bass played on, and Wesley listened as he knelt beside the suitcase. "Based on a case I recently prosecuted - a true story! Of two young people who met in the strangest of ways... Everybody clap your hands, ja?" If Wesley's hands hadn't been occupied with digging through piles of laundry, he might have obeyed, all the way in the dressing room; Gavin was just that charismatic. And then the guitar kicked in again, and Gavin began to sing.

"I had a show at the local bar,  
Dreaming of the day I'd be a star;  
He was a student who lived near me,  
Dreaming of his GPA at university, well-  
Dreams die!  
Stars fall!  
Our paths crossed - and I lost it all!  
Never knew it was so easy to fall apart -  
When he snatched my panties..."

Wesley froze, as the band drew out the chord.

"...He snatched my heart!"

Wesley could hardly believe it. Had... had his presence in court made so deep an impression on his idol? He'd tried so hard to contain himself on the witness stand - professionalism was the best way to impress a man such as Klavier Gavin, he suspected - but... somehow, some way, Gavin must have known! Wesley clasped the damp leather pants that had wound up in his hands to his chest in purest rapture as the song continued.

"Now he's being questioned by the boys in blue,  
Now I start to wonder what I should do;  
Leave the boy alone, send him back to his books?  
He'll never know my feelings if he's off the hook, so-  
Dreams die!  
Stars fall!  
Think of me for your one phone call!  
This is not an end, it's a brand new start-  
You snatched my panties... and you snatched my heart!"

Wesley had completely forgotten where he was, caught up in the belief - no, the _certainty_ \- that this song was addressed to him, and him alone. As the crowd's roar made the speakers crackle during the guitar solo, he made himself shake it off, so he could think of something appropriate to do about this. Should he wait here in the dressing room? Should he play hard to get, and merely write a fan letter? Should he...

What he should do, he recalled with a start, was put the leather pants he was still clasping to his chest back. Perhaps someday he would be clasping them to his chest again, but with the long, glorious legs of Klavier Gavin still in them, as he gratefully wept at his idol's feet.

As he started to shove the pants back into the suitcase, his hand brushed something suspiciously, enticingly soft, and he pushed aside a pair of socks to find...

"Snatch my panties! Snatch my heart, snatch my panties!" Gavin sang over the second guitarist's riff.

Wesley withdrew his hand from the suitcase, staring in wonder. A pair of deep purple boxers. Right beneath those leather pants. They _must_ belong to...

"Snatch, snatch my panties! Snatch my heart like you snatched my panties!"

Wesley stared at the speaker, then the underwear in his hand. "O, my muse - why must you tempt me so with your siren song?" he murmured anxiously. "I only just barely finished paying the penalties incurred by my first unfortunate crime of passion...!"

"Snatch snatch my panties - pantysnatcher!" Gavin crooned.

Wesley's lower lip trembled, as did the hand holding the boxers. "I must resist," he whispered shakily, and slowly - _slowly_ \- made himself return the boxers to the suitcase and close the zipper. There. He was _strong_.

Wesley stood and walked to the other side of the couch, sitting on it with a heavy sigh, leaning his head back. His hands, still feeling the alluring touch of the soft material, burrowed between the cushions, seeking some residual pleasure.

To his surprise, they found some, and his eyes snapped open again in surprise.

"Dreams die!  
Stars fall!  
Our paths crossed, and I lost it all!"

As the band repeated the chorus, Wesley pulled a wad of cloth out of the crevice between the couch cushions. He stared in amazement at the two articles of clothing, all tangled up in each other - much like, he imagined, their owners must have been, for there was a definite damp spot in both the basic white briefs, and the lacy red and white polka-dotted panties... Why, Gavin must have been indulging in the most carnal of pleasures with a young lady right here on this couch, Wesley realized - and just before they went onstage! He shuddered with delight at the treasure he had found...

"...No!" he moaned, his left hand trying helplessly to release the right hand's grip on the underwear. "I mustn't! I..."

"Snatch my panties, snatch my panties... Pantysnatcher, snatch my heart!"

"No!" Wesley exclaimed again, trying to tug the undergarments out of his right hand by force. That worked - but now his left hand was refusing to relinquish them. "Why do you do this to me, my muse?" he whimpered. "I'm _reformed_!"

Oblivious to Wesley's moral dilemma backstage, the Gavinners' song ended with a great crashing crescendo, and the crowd went wild as the lead singer made one last call. " _Snatch my panties, pantysnatcher!_ "

"Yes!" Wesley cried, leaping to his feet, tears flowing from his eyes, holding the underwear aloft in both hands like the trophy it was. "Yes, my golden-haired idol, yes!" he wept, fleeing from the dressing room with the panties and the briefs tucked beneath his shirt.

He got a surprise later that night when he got back to the dorm, and took a better look at them in the privacy of his bathroom. Whoever had been wearing the panties was blond, most definitely, but the single jet-black curly hair he'd found in the briefs left Wesley a little disillusioned. Klavier Gavin... dyed his hair?

\---

After the set ended, Klavier and Daryan were in something of a rush to return to the dressing room. "Where'd you stash 'em?" Daryan asked as he closed the door behind them. "I've been chafing all through the set, and you singing that new one about the little magician chick and the panty thief really didn't help."

"Not to worry, they're just..." Klavier frowned, fishing around in the couch. "I know I stuffed them down here. Wouldn't want Lamiroir to walk in here and find evidence of our debauchery, ja?"

"Find _evidence_? Hey, I'm the detective here, not her," Daryan reminded him, one eye on the door over his shoulder. "Hurry up, will you?"

"I'm working on it," Klavier told him patiently, lifting the cushions in turn. His frown grew deeper, and he removed all of them at once. Hands on his hips, he stared down at the barren upholstery. "This looks like a job for a detective, Herr Crescend. I know I put them down here, but they've vanished."

"Oh, that's just great," Daryan groaned, coming over to have a look. "I only have one more clean pair of underwear, and if I wear them for the rest of the show tonight, I'll reek on the bus tomorrow."

"You need to make laundry a regular habit," Klavier observed. "Or just get used to going commando."

"Not all of us can be exhibitionists," Daryan muttered. "And dammit - I liked that pair you had on."

"I'm sure they'll turn up somewhere," Klavier said dismissively. "Until then, you liked the pink Hello Kitty ones with the little red bow too, right? For irony's sake only, of course," he added, seeing the uncomfortable look on Daryan's face. "I guess I could put those on for the next set. What do you think?" He grinned with just a touch of mischief. "Something for you to think about as you watch me up there on the stage, playing my guitar while you're down below..."

Daryan's face wasn't the only part of him that seemed uncomfortable. "...You know I'm gonna miss your set with Lamiroir now, right?"

"Apologies, Crescend."


End file.
